Desecration
by Isabel Juno
Summary: The CSI's go up against a twisted serial killer who truly delights in his work... He's playing a game of cat & mouse with them and who will win? Warning... mostly involving Grissom, Catherine, Greg, Nick, and the Serial Killer possible GCR near the end..
1. My Art Is Unclaimed

Title: Desecration

Author: Isabel Juno

Warnings/Spoilers/Disclaimers: er... this is a rather violent story and i don't think there are any spoilers... i don't own CSI and if I did people would probably be too scared to watch it.

Authors Notes: Thank you all you crazy friends of mine... you all helped inspire me to write fanfictions to begin with... also READ& REVIEW!!!!!!!

Desecration

Chapter One

My Art is Unclaimed

It amuses me to watch them. They move around the inside the arena of yellow tape searching for clues they hope to find. Part of me wants them to find something. I want the credit for my work, my beautiful work. See them lying there under the plastic sheets; they lie so prettily that it makes me smile just to see it. The salt and pepper haired man studies something on the cement through a magnifying glass. My heart pauses a moment in the concern that I messed up and he found something, however, after a moment he frowns and straightens. He looks around studying all those watching him work. I know it is time to leave. I don't want to, but I must. My work is done for now. My art must remain unclaimed if I hope to finish the set. I take one last proud sweeping gaze over the scene and leave.

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	2. Sickening

**see previous chapters for warnings/spoilers/disclaimers/etc.**

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**Chapter Two**

**Sickening**

Doc Robbins had seen a lot of corpses in his days as a coroner. He had never seen anything quite this grisly in Vegas. Catherine and Gil came in before Robbins had quite finished with the preliminary examination. Catherine went unusually pale at the sight of the body and Gil, who'd seen the body at the scene, winced.

"What did you find?" Asked Gil, his voice soft and almost mournful. Roberts studied the two CSI's carefully. He sighed and turned back to the body.

"I won't know for sure the cause of death until I open her up but it's a safe assumption that she died of exsanguination. I had David count up the number of cuts and their depths. I've never seen anything quite like this. Whoever did this has to be really sadistic even for a sociopath. There are 1,396 cuts that are less than ½ a centimeter and there are 293 that are more than a centimeter deep." Catherine felt her stomach churn at the thought of how long it would have taken to do this, Robbins confirmed it. "We've compared the cuts and... this took at least four to five hours to complete. Gil closed his eyes and his jaw muscles twitched as he struggled to reign in his anger and disgust. He felt a monstrous migraine coming on. He looked down at the young woman's body. She was young, somewhere around twenty years old. Her hair lay around her head like a honey blond halo and the peaceful expression on her face was distorted by the dozens of vicious cuts criss-crossing her countenance. The same pattern was in each set of cuts. It made no sense to Grissom and he didn't know how long he could stare at the poor woman's corpse before he lost his mind. Her entire body was mutilated in this fashion and it sickened Grissom. Things didn't usually bother him this badly, somehow this was different. As he and Catherine left Robbins to his work and they walked down the hall to examine what little evidence they'd been able to find, Gil found himself wondering what kind of sick bastard would murder a young woman barely out of her teen years in such a brutal fashion. Grissom knew they had to catch the murderer before he or she struck again.

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	3. Serial

**See first chapter for spoilers/warnings/disclaimers/etc**

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Chapter Three

Serial

I take my time with this one. He's beautiful. He'll be gorgeous when I'm done with him; a real piece of work. I smile at that thought. The cuts contrast with his ivory skin and the rich crimson makes a wondrous fresco of blood daubed all over him. The thick viscous liquid clung to the gleaming dagger like maple syrup and I studied it in the light. It cast gorgeously eerie lights on the wall. I delighted in the pure viciousness of my work. Its sadistic nature wouldn't go unnoticed, but then again that was the point. Lead them on. Let them suspect nothing useful. I smiled to myself as I enjoyed that thought. I'm not some perverse bastard in the sense that I get a rise out of my work. I'm a perverse bastard in the sense that I enjoy the hunt and the work and the aftermath. I feed off of the horror and disgust that others feel from my work. I'm an emotional leech and I love it. I touch my fingers in his blood, its hot just like I knew it would be; hot and fiery, like he was. I scrutinize his face in an indifferent manner. He looks tormented. Good, let him appear in death like he was in life. He's young like the last one, no more than twenty. A barkeep at the Bellagio, I paused to wonder how long it would take them to identify him. The time it would take would be nominal compared to my next mark. I closed my eyes and salivated at the thought of my next target. That would be truly a special one, but then, weren't they all special? So special as to be included in my web of trickery, sadism, and beauty; they should have felt honored. I took my Kodak picture and waved it until it developed. A beautiful coroner's shot of his empty vessel. Nothing in the world could preserve this insane pleasure more. I sigh with a tired sadness. It's time to make my pattern and see if they piece it together. I smile as I imagine the dumbfounded and sickened look of the salt and pepper haired man I'd seen at my last showing. He's particularly disgusted with me and I love him for it. The fool hasn't a hope of figuring it out. The pretty red head was probably thinking of her daughter when she saw the young woman's body. That makes me laugh. I've done my research on them. All of them, those silly little CSI's, they make me giggle as if I'm high. I think about that for a second and a wave of happiness passes over me. I'm rather hungry now. I take off the clothes I've been wearing to kill my beautiful little barkeep and toss them in a garbage can, followed by some gasoline and a match. The fire enveloped my blood-stained clothes and I shrugged and turned away. I picked up my brown paper bag that I'd taken from a local grocery store and pulled out my fresh clothes; a simple pair of blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt with a fresh pair of socks and Nikes. I felt hunger gnawing at my stomach and I smiled again. A hard night's work deserved a good hot meal. I strolled of to the nearest Denny's for a nice turkey club and as I strolled I whistled "I Love How You Love Me", a nice cheerful tune to end off a wonderful evening.

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	4. Revulsion

**See first chapter for spoilers/warnings/disclaimers/etc.**

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Chapter Four

Revulsion

Greg puked. Plain and simple, he was completely unprepared for this crime scene. He thought that he'd seen some bad crime scenes but nothing compared to this bloody and horrific perversion. Grissom touched his shoulder. Greg spun around and the sudden motion made him vomit again. Grissom dodged the onslaught and patted Greg's back understandingly. Grissom looked green and disturbed, though at this scene Greg would have been more worried if Grissom didn't look ill or bothered. The body lay exposed; there was so much blood that if they covered him up it would distort the patterns painted in blood on the young man. Greg stared in a morbidly fascinated way; the man wasn't much younger than Greg. His hair was as crazy as Greg's and he even looked a bit like Greg. All of this, plus the horrible way in which the man had been murdered freaked Greg out terribly. Grissom's face screwed up with repressed disgust and horror. There was nothing for it, this was cold naked murder. Gil couldn't wrench his eyes from the corpse. The young man's entire body was covered in the same vicious slashes that the woman's had been. They were in a slightly different pattern this time and realization hit Grissom like a ton of bricks as his epiphany shouted "they're words stupid!" He still didn't know what the words were but he knew that if the string of murders continued; that he would become painfully aware of what they were. He told Greg to go home for the night and Grissom began the slow torturous task of searching for evidence he knew he wouldn't find.

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	5. Obsession

I just want to thank all the patient peoples who didn't yell at me (too much) to get back in gear and writing... there has been a lot of tough stuff going on in my life lately... I've had 6 people die in the last year and college preparations are combining to kick the crap outta me. I don't own CSI... if I did I would work penguins in there somehow...

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Chapter Five

Obsession

The culmination of my work is in this one. Sweet little things, they may be my last project. The idea of ending my art fills me with sorrow. I wonder sometimes if I take too much pleasure from my hobby. Well then again, I do this for a deeper purpose. It's my puzzle and I want my little pet CSI's to play. They have to; it's not fair if they don't. My grandmother always told me, that in order to be fair you have to share with others. I want to share. I want to share with the world. The corners of my mouth turn up into a little smile. Their bodies are so delicate, it's almost a shame to have to risk breaking them, but, one must suffer for his art. Poor silly Van Gogh, if only he knew what he'd inspired. They'd said I was a disturbed child that always made my grandmother laugh. She would always tell them that of course I was a disturbed child. What child wouldn't be disturbed after watching his mother murdered by a psychopath who spread her blood all around the walls? It was such an intoxicatingly intriguing painting though. Blood was the best paint and anything became my canvas. I thanked the psychopath for that at least. My grandmother understood me more than my own mother had. Sometimes I liked to taste their blood just to see what it was like. That was something I started as a kid. Starting with small animals and working my way up to my own blood. I like to try other people's blood too, not in a vampiric sense. I just like the taste. It makes me laugh that people think I'm a freak. It makes me laugh because I know the truth. They're all freaks too. That thought comforts me as I begin slicing into the quivering fearful flesh of the two college students. Two freshman in college; they're my youngest marks yet. I don't think I'll go after kids. People will lose the message in their flat out rage at the death of a child. That does me no good. The message must be clear and if they don't begin to understand. Well then, I'll just have to go after one of their own then won't I? They scream but nobody will hear them. That makes me scream with them, just to show them how pointless it all is. The dingy light bulb swings back and forth, to and fro frantically as one of the kids thrashing limbs strikes it as they flail for anything that will help them in their little predicament. I watched the movie Red Dragon one night. I wondered why the FBI wanted to stop such beautiful work. It didn't make sense to me, but then, people never make sense to me. But I've never understood people so what does it really matter? My message is all that matters, and it will be clear.

The screams echo off the walls "Please! Stop! What did we do to you? Oh, God no!" I laugh at them.

My work continues.

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